Fault Lines
Page 22
“Look, Cally, we found some information earlier today,” Chambers was saying. “Your family has been hunted since, I don’t know, forever.”
“Yes, I know.”
“How do you know?”
“You told me,” Cally said.
“Just then I did.”
“Yes. But I remembered it.”
Chambers closed his eyes. “But you only remembered it when I said it?”
“Yes.”
“Wait. You said you knew when the planes were going to crash.”
“Yes. I remembered that.”
“You’re talking normally again—although you’re not complaining.”
“Wasn’t I talking normally before?”
“No. Not even for a teenager. You were enunciating clearly and mixing up your tenses. Even more than a poor French student. You knew these attackers would be here. Do you know why?”
“Not yet.”
Chambers sighed. “Stay here. There should be gas lanterns down here for tourists.” His hand rattled on a long chain suspended halfway up the wall, stretching out in both directions. He felt his way along it and disappeared in the gloom.
Cally returned to his game. After a moment he glanced up at Hanson, who sat with her head in her hands. “Your friend, the one you don’t like much,” he called out.
Hanson looked over toward Cally. “You mean DI Chambers?”
“No. You like him, especially his body. The other one, with the beard. His name is …” He closed his eyes then quickly opened them again. Pain flashed across his face. “Rod.”
“What about him? And I like him a lot.”
“He’s not going to make it. You need to stay here.”
Her smile faded as she grappled with the statement. “That isn’t true. You can’t know that.”
“Fine. Believe what you want. It won’t change anything, but you have to stay here.”
Hanson thought back. Everything Cally said had turned out to be true. They were alive now because he could glimpse into the future and change certainties. But he couldn’t know everything. It would be impossible. She sighed. Where was Randeep when you needed him?
A faint light appeared down the tunnel. Chambers appeared, carrying an old fashioned lantern. “We should get moving,” he said.
Hanson stood up. “No. I’m going to get Rod.”
“But there’s no point,” Cally said.
“Listen,” she said, “I rescued you from the helicopter crash.”
“So?”
“Look, Cally, I find your behavior highly ungrateful,” Hanson said. “From now on you can look after yourself.”
“You can’t make a difference that way,” Cally said. “It’s too dangerous. I need you here.”
“Not everyone’s destined to know the future,” Hanson said. “We’re under alien attack and I don’t know how much time any of us has left. I had a responsibility and duty to Rod, and I failed him. I can’t leave him with … with what I said.”
“Tracy, please stay,” Chambers pleaded. “At least wait for things to calm down. Going out there now is suicide.”
“That’s fine by me.”
She turned and ran back the way they had come.
PART 2
43
THE DAY HAD been impossible. Field Marshal Norton had organized a futile attempt to rescue the House of Lords, but the damage to the building had been too great to gain access. The silver craft continued to swing down from God knew where, killing and destroying everything before them. Preliminary strikes against them had ended in disaster, with aircraft tumbling out of the sky as soon as they were launched. Ground forces had mobilized, but they had been impotent against the immense robots laying waste to the cityscape.
Destruction had rolled over Central London, and the metropolis lay in smoking ruins. Communications were failing. Intermittent word was coming in from overseas, enough to know that the same fate was playing out across the globe. City by city, civilization was being obliterated.
The world was going dark. Power grids were being annihilated as electromagnetic attacks took their toll. Norton knew that when the power was gone completely, London would be in real trouble. Nothing like a bit of disruption to throw civilization back to the Stone Age. All that was left was for the politicians to do what they always did: battle over power.
He ran down the broad stairs from Parliament Square into the dark chamber under the Thames and swiped his card. There was a slight whining, and the wall swung aside to reveal a secured entrance into the facility under the river. Two security guards snapped to attention when he walked past.
Elevators occupied the far wall. He pressed the button and waited impatiently. The door opened, he stepped in, and the elevator fell. The elevators were designed to get officials one hundred yards underground in under a second. Being underground was one of the few ways possible of surviving a nuclear blast.
The elevator door opened and he stepped out into an exact replica of the House of Commons. The lower parliamentary house—or chamber—had been, unsurprisingly, at the forefront of national security of every reigning political party since the late 1990s, looking for reasons to demonstrate the lack of relevance of the upper house.
The room was buzzing; a sober MP occupied every seat. The real House of Commons had never been so full, except at times of celebration, when there were free drinks. The six hundred and fifty attending politicians had mimicked their aboveground seating positions and were already shouting at each other. The speaker banged her gavel, trying to rein in the pandemonium.
Few people paid attention as Norton arrived. He nodded at the speaker before taking his designated seat, with only the Archbishop of Canterbury, who gave a small nod of greeting, between him and the prime minister.
“The speaker recognizes Field Marshal Norton.” The announcement was lost on the crowd.
Norton had only been into the underground facility once before, while it was being built. Towering oak panels, decorated with wartime monarchs and leaders, concealed the concrete walls of the underground bunker. Huge metal turbines spun slowly, evacuating the stale air. The hum of the emergency diesel backup vibrated and hummed through the floor, but the sound was lost in the barrage of arguing voices.
Prime Minister Daniel Anderson was speaking with Edward Forsyth, the opposition leader. Norton tuned into the debate.
“… the House of Lords?” Forsyth was saying. “We must step up to fill the void left by its demise. The people need our guidance. They’ve put their trust in us.”
“It’s an unfortunate situation,” Anderson replied, “and my learned friend is correct. Responsibility in such a time of crisis needs to be embraced or chaos will ensue. Indeed, the people do, and always have, looked to us.”
“Yes, Prime Minister,” Forsyth said. “We need to show strength in the face of adversity.”
“On this we agree.” Anderson turned to face the amassed assembly. “I put forward the motion to enact the Two Knights Initiative.”
General consent hissed around the room.
Anderson took a sip of water. His throat was beginning to tire in the dry air. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling, but it was soon wiped off his face.
“Iraq,” bellowed an opposition backbencher, her voice cutting through the rabble. “That’s where strength got us in the past. Blair is now the most hated man in UK history.”
The prime minister’s face reddened. Tuts and murmurs of disapproval flowed through the assembly. Norton craned to see the instigator. The woman had turned away and all Norton could see was her back, and was unable to recognize her.
“Your leader showed poor judgment in the face of public opinion. This is an entirely different situation.” Anderson’s voice had become dry and cracked, forcing him to take another sip.
“How?” Forsyth snapped.
“For a start, the people are on our side.”
“What people? We’re losing them. I’m getting numbers of three million already dead
in London—in one day. Who knows what’s happening elsewhere around the country. Continuing on this path will only cost us more people.”
“Are you saying we should surrender?” Anderson growled.
“I’m saying we should look at all the options. Opening negotiations for a peaceful resolution should be one of those options.”
“By the way,” Anderson said, “your deputy, Margaret Clacton, where has she gone?” He looked around the opposition benches in search of the woman.
“She’s been taken ill as a result of your duplicitous nature,” Edward Forsyth, the leader of the opposition, said dryly.
“Field Marshal Norton, what are your views?” Anderson sat down to let his voice recover.
Norton stood and took his place in the conversation apex. All eyes turned to him. He paused, taking in the collection of leaders, and the audience became quiet. “Although the leader of the opposition has a point—”
“Don’t tell me you agree with the man?” Anderson said.
Norton held up his hand to silence the prime minister. “Forsyth has a point. There’s a time and place for defensive negotiation. Having seen the destructive power of this enemy, I would say the time is not now. These kinds of aggressors are rarely ones to negotiate. They’ve come to annihilate.”
“So you think we should attack?” Anderson said.
“And kill everyone on the planet?” Forsyth added.
“No,” Norton said. “Today has been disastrous. We’re essentially helpless. Nothing we’ve done has worked. The only aggressive option we have left is to nuke the city. Instead, we should take a defensive position. We have the facilities available to provide protection. I propose that we regroup, learn about our enemy, and attack when we know what we’re dealing with.”
“Do you mean we hide?” Anderson said.
“Reconnaissance, Prime Minister. From a safe and defensible position. We’re outnumbered and outgunned.”
“I say that if we get the chance we use diplomacy and negotiate,” Forsyth said. “Dialog will show their weaknesses, and establish their goals.”
“What exactly about their current mode of interaction has indicated that they want to chat with us?” Anderson spat.
“You’re laying out a path of jingoistic warmongering, Prime Minister,” Forsyth said.
“I’m the elected leader of this country and its people, and that means you as well, Forsyth. You will fall into line and present a partisan alignment with my decision.” Anderson started to cough. His face went crimson and he gulped down water.
“You’re not Churchill, and this is not ‘your’ war. We have experts to use in such times.” Forsyth indicated Norton. “It’s not your army to do with as you wish. It’s the people’s army. It’s there to protect the people who vote us into power.”
“Sorry, Prime Minister,” Norton said, “but the opposition leader is correct. You don’t have the authority for that. The decision is mine and mine alone.”
Anderson’s voice was croaky and barely able to be heard. “For God’s sake, man, it’s a national emergency. If we can’t agree, there’ll be no one left to govern.”
“Safety, and possibly survival, is our priority, PM. Not governance.”
The Prime Minister slammed his fist down. His voice was gone. He indicated for Nick Prescott, the deputy prime minister, to take over while he recovered.
Prescott, flustered by the sudden call to arms, stood up and went on the attack. “Another example of broken promises.” He looked at Forsyth. “Blair, your wonder-leader, has forever tarnished this government’s authority. And now, when we need the people behind us, we’ll have to overcome their distrust caused by you.”
Norton stared at the men, grown men, who at the point of apocalypse still only thought about themselves and power broking. He made his way back to his chair beside the archbishop, who was wearing non-clerical clothes and sitting quietly with his hands clasped. He looked frail and old.
Norton leaned over and whispered, “I’m just stepping out. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
The archbishop looked at him nervously and nodded. Norton rose, recognized the speaker as per House of Commons protocol, and made his way to the exit. The archbishop watched him leave, his sad eyes tracking him all the way to the door. Norton turned and gave the elderly man a sorry shrug, leaving him to the machinations of inept leaders. Norton knew they were going to need the archbishop more than ever. He hoped the elderly man didn’t know the magnitude of the sudden pressure he was about to experience. It was going to be a shock for them all.
44
NORTON MADE HIS way from the concealed entrance opposite the Royal Air Force Memorial, along the river and around Portcullus House back to the Supreme Court Building, where his office had been relocated after the demolition of the Ministry of Defense. He had been quiet about the move and kept the notifications to a minimum, bringing only the immediate staff. One of them had been General Hubbard. Even as Norton approached, the man’s eyes were alight with hunger for war.
“What was the outcome?” Hubbard said. His voice carried unrestrained excitement.
“We seek shelter, wait, and watch.”
“You can’t be serious? Of all the options, how can they choose that?”
“Never more so, General. They didn’t choose another option because they lack sufficient ideology to think beyond themselves.”
“But that’s absurd. We’re under attack. We need to retaliate.”
“Yes, why not? It worked so well last time.”
“That was unfortunate. We’ve learned since then. We have a better understanding of the enemy now.”
“See?”
“We can’t learn by hiding. We need to engage. Seeing how they react will give us that understanding.”
“You haven’t seen much actual live conflict, have you, Hubbard?”
“I’ve seen the regulatory requirements.”
“One thing you learn is that an unknown enemy will behave in unknown ways,” Norton said. “They might be insane berserkers who run screaming directly at you. Or they could have a new plan. Snipers wait to catch a target. And that’s what we will do. I’ve listened to allegedly wise men argue until they’re blue in the face over this issue and I’m at the end of my tether. I will not be advised. This is the decision.”
Norton entered his new office. The window gave an unparalleled view of the smoking remains of Big Ben and over toward the south bank. It was all burning. Smoke rolled out on a strong easterly wind.
“Field Marshal, I strongly protest,” Hubbard said.
“Protest noted, General. Dismissed.” Norton sat down and started to leaf through the paperwork on his desk. He focused his attention away from the general.
Hubbard presented a formal salute and turned away, seething. The field marshal had spoken. He stomped back to his own office and slammed the door.
Margaret Clacton was sitting in his guest chair, her face a combination of anger and inconvenience as she toyed with the executive desk toys.
“General,” she said. “Both capital and fortuitous that you should arrive now. There’s something Mr. Forsyth would like to discuss with you.”
Extract from surviving journal:
The attacks are intensifying. Each day brings more and more. One week in, and some say seventy-five percent of the population has been wiped out. And still they come. Gangs have left the city and are patrolling through the quieter villages where there are fewer attacks, but they prey on the weak. Those who stay try to hide. The streets are lined with the dead. Disease can’t be far behind. What do we do with the bodies? So many bodies … the power is failing, and we’re alone in the darkness.
The sniper sat staring at the device. The figures swung wildly in the billions, and nothing he said made any difference. No thought changed it. No phrase calmed the shouting numbers.
“What do I do now?”
The child-like voice whispered to him: Do what you must.
45
/> FIELD MARSHAL NORTON tapped the pages into the folder and cleared his throat. In a time of uncertainty and technological fallibility, paper felt remarkably solid and reliable.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Mandrake Conference Theatre. I know times have been tough, and I thank you for making the dangerous trip down. I apologize for the condition of the theater. It’s not what it once was.”
The attending military heads sat around the large circular table. Bioluminescence lanterns provided light with a hint of green. Monitors that had once connected world leaders at the flick of a switch were dead. The planet was becoming a large place once again.
Norton turned to the commander on his right. “Colonel Jensen, proceed.”
“Field Marshal. We’ve been defeated. People have scattered and they’ve been slaughtered. I can only guess that the survivors number in the thousands only. The soldiers I have left will be redeployed down here in the south, but I’m not sure what good it’ll do. They are broken.”
“Thank you, Jensen. You’ll all know about Morris and the Royal Air Force. We’ll try to arrange a memorial for the fallen. It’s with the cruelest irony that we consider their motto: Through Adversity to the Stars.”
He turned to the soldiers on his left. “Admiral Woodruff. And Vice Admiral.”
“Field Marshal. We know the enemy craft have trouble negotiating water—the significant majority of attacks have been on land,” Woodruff said. “They’re steering clear of major bodies of water. We had some initial success using water cannons. At first they destabilized the enemy, but they’ve since adapted, and they’re no longer affected. We have range with weapons, but the enemy’s speed is difficult to gauge. But our primary problem is our size. You can’t defend an island with less than ten thousand men from what is ostensibly the outside.”
“Hubbard,” Norton said, turning to the general. “Tell me what you’ve managed to achieve.”